


he keeps winning anyway

by Sanna_Black_Slytherin



Series: The Other 51 [18]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Asexual James Madison, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Bonding, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Alexander Hamilton, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Politics, President Hamilton, Referenced Period-Typical Homophobia, Thomas is kind of a dick, but he means well, kind of, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 06:54:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8880202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/pseuds/Sanna_Black_Slytherin
Summary: Alexander slowly but surely created a family of his own. He wouldn't exchange it for anything.
Alexander recovers. Conversations are held. Hearts are mended.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this for nine hours straight. Sleep is a foreign concept.

There was a knock on the door. It was opened to reveal a somber Allison Drawwood, a suitcase in her hand. She nodded in greeting to the Washingtons. “Sir, ma'am,” she said, then focused her attention on the figure in the chair net to the hospital bed. “Gilbert,” she murmured, receiving no reaction. “You need to sign some paperwork,” she placed her suitcase on a nearby table, opened it, and withdrew some documents. “It's the revised trade treaty with Japan. You know the one,” she said by way of explanation.

Lafayette nodded, his eyes skimming through the text but not absorbing any information. “Have you read it?” he asked, to which Drawwood nodded. “Good. I trust you,” he signed the paper with a flourish.

For her part, Drawwood did not comment on Lafayette's disregard of protocol – or, indeed, common sense. She placed the papers back in her suitcase. “How are you holding up?” she asked at length.

Lafayette shrugged. “As well as can be expected, considering the circumstances,” he replied flatly, voice devoid of any emotion.

Drawwood's expression was carefully neutral as she studied him. She took a deep breath. “Gilbert, God knows that I am not the best person to lecture you about healthy life choices, all things considered–“ she cut herself off, swallowed, then continued, “but you will do no one any good by wasting away cooped up here. If nothing else, don't give up for Alexander, because he wouldn't for you. Don't let these people paralyze you. Don't let them win.”

Lafayette said nothing. Closed his eyes. Nodded. “You are right. Of course you are. It's just that–“

“You can't return to quotidian life where everyone continues as though nothing has changed, when for you, everything has,” Drawwood finished for him when it did not look like Lafayette was going to continue. “Trust me when I say that nobody at the White House is treating this as something trivial. Come back – at least to stay updated on the going-ons at the State Department.”

Lafayette hummed. “I presume that you have been running it in my absence.”

Drawwood nodded affirmatively. “But I have realized that I can't handle three jobs, each of which is more than enough to fill my schedule, _on top_ of trying to finish my fiscal reform,” she admitted. “I need you to come back, at least tentatively.”

“I will try,” Lafayette acquiesced.

Drawwood picked up her suitcase. “That is all I can ask for,” with that, she let herself out. Lafayette sagged in his chair and put his face in his hands.

George and Martha Washington had been quiet throughout the exchange, but now Martha spoke up. “How is Secretary Drawwood able to handle running three departments at the same time? Shouldn't every secretary be supervising their own departments?” she asked in mild confusion, partially to fill the permeating silence and partially to satisfy her own curiosity.

Lafayette shrugged. “ _En théorie ouais_ , but Alexander designed such a well-oiled mechanism of a cabinet that, should anything happen to any of its members, it would still be functioning – even if it was the president. He probably knew that someone was going to try to incapacitate him sooner or later because of his inability to keep his opinions to himself,” he laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “He wanted us to be prepared. And it's not like State and Treasury don't share jurisdiction on most matters, so she is well-acquainted with the procedures at State. I think she's also attending to the matters for which the vice president is usually responsible, seeing as James is filling in for Alexander.”

Washington blinked. “How does she even have time to sleep?” he marveled.

Lafayette grimaced. “She doesn't, if her voice was any indication. It's too much for her – it would be too much for _anyone_. That's why I need to come back; I hate it when she's right.”

* * *

They took turns going home, making sure that someone was always there. Even Lafayette returned to work, if only briefly to get the status of what was going on at his department. Eliza took Lin up on his offer of extended leave, though she wished she could have been there when it turned out that her understudy (and wasn't it crazy that she had an understudy to play _her_ ) was home with pneumonia, and the understudy's understudy was on a honeymoon. Lin, being the endlessly kind cinnamon roll that he was, didn't drag Eliza back into the theatre citing emergency. Instead, he tailored the role for Jon.

Jonathan Groff as Eliza Schuyler. She snickered at the mental image, then opened her phone because there were pictures, _of course there were,_ and she had never been so grateful for the internet.

* * *

 _New York Post_ @nypost  
FBI investigation: KKK behind presidential assassination nyp.st/2oDFyrE

* * *

When Alexander finally woke up, it was quite anticlimactic. One minute, he was asleep, and the other, he was awake, opening his eyes. “Laf–“ he managed to say before choking.

Washington sprung into action, calling for a doctor, while Lafayette approached Alexander's bed. “Shhhh, don't talk,” he advised. “You've been shot,” when Alexander opened his mouth to ask a question, Lafayette put a finger to his lips. “What did I say? Talk less,” Alexander cracked a grin at that, which Lafayette returned. “But seriously, don't talk. Rest. You've been shot, but they've found the guilty party. Madison, Burr, von Steuben, and Drawwood have been running things in your absence,” Alexander arched an eyebrow in lieu of a question. Lafayette winced. “At first, Drawwood ran State, but she came to kick my ass and remind me that you wouldn't want me to have become a vegetable.”

Alexander smiled in satisfaction, and his eyes started to droop just as Washington returned with a doctor. She examined Alexander, nodding contentedly. “Well, he seems to begin to recover,” the doctor said. “Him waking up is a very good sign. At the risk of giving you false hope, I'd say that he'll make a full recovery.”

The grin Lafayette shared with Washington was his first genuine smile in over two weeks.

* * *

“Gilbert,” Eliza said, John behind her. “We need to talk.”

Lafayette looked up from where he was browsing some files that his assistant had sent over. “We do?” he asked innocuously.

“Don't play dumb,” Lafayette, Eliza plopped down in the chair next to his, leaving John to find another chair to drag over. “You know, I'm not even pissed that you're dating Alexander,” she began.

“A bit jealous, yes,” John admitted, “but not angry. He deserves the best, and you seem to be the person best suited for him.”

“But not telling us that you remembered?” Eliza continued. “ _Lying_ to us? That hurts.”

Lafayette shrugged. “Technically, I didn't lie to you,” he pointed out.

John glared. “Omitting certain truths is lying. There is a reason why it's called _lying by omission_.”

“Is this about Alexander?” Lafayette asked. “Because I've always thought that the idea of soulmates is ridiculous,” he stated. “Just– the thought that one person, and one person only, can fulfill all your needs, and is a perfect fit for you, is not only utopian, it is _absurd_.”

Eliza tilted her head. “No, it's not about Alexander. Well, partially,” she corrected herself, “because he didn't tell us that he remembered, either. But this," she gestured at her and John, "is about _you_ lying to us.”

Lafayette sighed. “Fine. You want to know why we didn't tell you? We felt _betrayed_. More specifically, Alexander has felt betrayed by the Washingtons not remembering their past life. He has always remembered, you know?” he paused. “James was pissed because nobody remembered him. Alexander says that when he recognized James in college, he literally shone up like a person whose hope has been all but squashed and then restored,” Lafayette then looked at John. “You, John, you didn't remember me when we first met in this life. That was way back in college, he smiled bitterly, and you didn't remember.

“The three of us made a deal that we wouldn't tell you, that we would let you sweat as you made us sweat, that you would feel the same longing as we felt. Petty, I know, because you had no control over when and if you would remember, but humans are hardly rational creatures, are we?”

Eliza looked helplessly at John, who glanced back. They both looked at Lafayette. Eliza spoke first. “I understand. I don't condone it, and I don't forgive you, not yet. But I understand.”

“I need time to process it,” John added.

Lafayette nodded. “That's all any of us can ask for.”

John and Eliza stood up and made as if to exit the room. John then turned back to Lafayette. “Laf,” he smiled pleasantly, “you have been one of my closest friends back then, but I swear, if you hurt a hair on Alexander's head, I will skin you.”

* * *

The door was suddenly slammed open by an irate James Morrow, a disgruntled look on his face. He stalked forward, somehow coming off as intimidating despite being 5'3. Burr slipped in behind him while the attention was on James.

James came to a stop next to Alexander's bed. “Hamilton. You _utter_ bastard,” he spat furiously, all of the anger and worry that has been simmering inside him finally coming to a boil. “How _dare_ you get shot.”

“I didn't actually–“ Alexander began, but James didn't let him continue.

“I was beyond myself with worry. You don't get to do that to me,” he then surprised Alexander by hugging him tightly. “Don't do that to me again."

“I can't exactly predict those things,” Alexander mumbled against James' shoulder. “Besides, you're not my mother,” he grinned impudently as James took a step back.

“No, but I _am_ your vice president, and it falls to me to take care of this country should anything happen to you,” James said pointedly.

“Speaking of that,” Alexander changed the subject. "Is my country still intact, or did you blow it up while I was out of it?”

Burr snorted, drawing the attention of every person in the room. “No, but he did go on a Twitter tirade against Trump to defend your honour,” he revealed, ignoring James' look of betrayal.

Alexander stilled, shocked. “Really?” he then beamed. “I'm so proud of you, Jemmy!”

James blushed. “It wasn't a _tirade_ ,” he insisted.

“ _Uh huh_ ,” Although Alexander did not sound convinced, let the subject drop.

The light mood was ruined by Martha, who could no longer hold herself. “What is _he_ doing here?” she pointed at Burr, who instinctively took a step back, raising his hands defensively.

Alexander cleared his throat. “He is here because I want him to be here,” he responded. “He is my Attorney General, and has every right to be here. We made up. I annoyed him, he shot me, it's all even now. We are friends.”

“While we are on the subject,” Burr spoke, “we – well, the FBI, really – found the people who had shot you. Some extremists from the KKK who didn't like the message you were sending. One of them was killed during arrest, but we have the other two in custody right now,” he said succinctly.

“Who made the arrest?” Alexander inquired.

Burr blinked. “What?” he frowned.

“Who were the agents who arrested these guy? Alexander repeated slowly.

Burr narrowed his eyes. “Agents Scott and Faucette. Why?”

“I want to talk to them,” Alexander explained. “Thank them,” he elaborated.

Burr nodded, satisfied with the answer. “That could be arranged,” he concurred.

“One more thing,” James said, changing the subject again. He smiled. “I don't think you need to worry about Trump anymore.”

“And why is that?” Alexander inquired, tilting his head in bewilderment.

“Because you have _so many sympathy votes_ ,” James said, fighting the urge to smile.

“Nobody in their right mind will voice opposition for a president who literally got shot for doing what he believed in,” Burr added. “They would be branded KKK supporters. Which means that I'll be sticking around, like it or not,” he smirked.

There was the sound of someone clearing their throat, and everyone whipped their heads in the direction of it. Thomas Jenkins was standing in the doorway, holding what looked to be a laptop bag. He stared in Burr's direction. “Wow, you almost sounded _human_ for a while there,” he said laconically. “Did you grow a personality between the last time I saw you?”

Alexander rolled his eyes. “Why is _he_ here?” he whined petulantly.

John huffed. “Because he is my partner,” he said by way of explanation.

Alexander stared. “John,” he said slowly, “I love you dearly, but you have _horrible_ taste this time around.”

James groaned. “You know, I take it all back,” he muttered. “I didn't miss you. You can go back to your coma now, you massive nerd.”

Alexander managed to look affronted. “I am _not_ a nerd.”

“Oh, please,” James scoffed. He addressed the rest of the room, “Alexander is such a nerd, he also writes secretly writes fanfiction. He thinks that I don't know, but I do,” he smirked.

“Really?” Thomas perked up, always interested in blackmail material. “What are they about?”

Alexander shot James a 'don't you dare' look, which James promptly ignored and opened his mouth. Alexander jumped up from his bed, hoping that he wouldn't tear anything the doctors might have sewed, and launched himself at James, covering the other's mouth just as James began to speak. “If you know what's good for you, you will keep quiet,” he hissed. He then spoke in a louder voice. “Can I return this VP? I think he's faulty.”

Angie laughed. “No, the guarantee on vice presidents is half a year.”

“That is far too short,” Alexander grumbled.

"A bit like you, then," James retorted.

"You're in no position to throw stones here, Jemmy."

Thomas muttered something that only John heard. He hid a smile behind his palm as he heard the words 'I hate to say it, but I agree' come out of Thomas' mouth. It was rare enough for Thomas to admit that he agreed with a person he did not like under normal circumstances. For it to be the person Thomas Jefferson had hated the most, which, regardless of what Thomas claimed, inevitably influenced his own emotions? Colour John impressed.

“You know," Alexander mused, still glaring at James, "I'm not sure whether to be honoured or insulted that you and Jefferson started a newspaper with the express purpose of badmouthing me."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Oh, like you didn't do the exact same thing with the _New York Post_?” he said laconically. "And with the _Gazette_?"

Alexander shrugged. “Point. While we are on the subject of bad decisions: I need a new Press Secretary,” he mentioned. “He said that he wanted to resign to spend more time with his newborn daughter. I approved, of course, with three weeks' notice. Which means that I now have– what day is it?”

John rolled his eyes fondly. “The 13th  of December.”

“Which means that I have exactly eight days to find a new Press Secretary,” he exchanged looks with James, who, after a long time of working with Alexander, seemed to know exactly what the man meant.

He scrunched up his nose, contemplating. He then nodded reluctantly. “It does have some merit,” he conceded.

Alexander then turned to Eliza. “Say,” he said casually, “do you have Angelica's number?”

* * *

“Is this Angie Smith?”

“Yes. Who am I speaking with?”

“Alexander Hamilton, at your service.”

A pause. “You _bag of dicks_. You went and _died._ Do you have any idea what it did to Eliza?”

“I can imagine.”

“No, you really _cannot_. Alexander, I swear, if you were here, I would wring your neck.”

Alexander snorted. “Why do you think I'm _calling_ you? I may be reckless, but I'm not stupid.”

“Some might argue that those are synonymous. How did you even get my phone number in the first place?” Angelica demanded.

“Eliza,” Alexander offered as an explanation.

“… I see,” Angelica paused for a long moment. “What do you want?”

Alexander sighed. “I'll just be frank and hope for the best: do you want to be my Press Secretary?”

“What happened to the previous one?” Angelica's tone was suspicious. "Are they lying in a ditch somewhere?"

“I didn't murder him, if that's what you're asking,” Alexander assured her. “He decided to spend some quality time with his family. Fatherhood and all that. Apparently, he didn't have time for that while he was Press Secretary, so fair warning: you might have to work overtime," he paused for a moment. "A lot,” he amended.

He could practically feel Angelica's grin. “I can handle it, and I think Theresa can, too.”

“Welcome to the team, then,” Alexander smiled. “Also, Theresa?” he asked quizzically.

“My girlfriend,” Angelica clarified in a defiant tone.

Alexander pursed his lips. “I want to meet her,” he finally said.

Angelica scoffed. “What, so that you can give her the shovel talk? No way.”

“Next week, nine in the morning. Be there. The word to get past security is 'Rochambeau'.”

“You sentimental fool,” Angelica said fondly.

“I do aim to please.”

“Save that for Lafayette,” Angelica snorted, then ended the call.

Well, that went well.

* * *

“You didn't tell me,” Thomas said flatly, not bothering to hide the wounded tone in his voice.

James looked away from where he was watching Alexander. He stared hard at Thomas. “You didn't remember, so what was the point?” he said simply.

“But then I _did_ remember!” Thomas persisted stubbornly. “You could have told me then. At least some kind of recognition of our friendship!”

James shrugged. “By then, I realized that I wasn't part of your life, and to just insert myself there, like I had some right to you, was rude. You were happy with John Laurens. That was enough for me.”

“I didn't have my best friend,” Thomas said, but this time, it was petulant more than anything else. “There is always a place in my life for my best friend.”

James said nothing.

Thomas studied him. “Tell me this, at least,” he pleaded. “Are you happy?”

James' eyes skimmed briefly over Lafayette, then settled on Alexander. A small smile quirked his lips. “Yes, Thomas,” he said. “I am happy.”

“Then that's enough for _me_ ,” Thomas said simply. “Remember, you're always welcome at any home of mine.”

James was spared from answering by the unexpected entrance of Allison Drawwood.

* * *

Alexander was talking with Washington, John and Lafayette, Thomas and James lurking in the background engaged in their own conversation, when the door opened. Drawwood stormed in, clothes in disarray.

“As much as I appreciate the confidence in leaving me in charge of the White House,” she hissed, “I don't like being left out of the loop. I sighed up to be Treasury, not _Treasury_ and _State_ and _POTUS_ and _VPOTUS_ ,” she emphasized. “Good to see you awake, by the way, sir.”

Alexander blinked. “Hello to you too,” he said sarcastically.

Drawwood sighed dramatically at Alexander's response, taking a seat on the bed. “Also, I finished the financial plan.”

“Already?” Alexander couldn't mask the surprise.

“What, did you not expect me to finish it?” Drawwood's tone turned defensive.

Alexander shook his head frantically. “No, it's not that, it is just that…” he tried to find words to describe what he meant, “when I was shot, you were, like, halfway through and had that major problem with export.”

“And then I fixed it,” Drawwood said simply, her tone daring him to continue with his line of questioning.

Thomas decided that it was time to make his presence known. “Thomas Jenkins,” he stepped forward, introducing himself. “And you are?”

Drawwood didn't even spare him a look. “Allison Drawwood.”

If Thomas expected her to elaborate, he was to be deeply disappointed. Alexander hid a smile, sensing a confrontation between Jefferson and Drawwood.

Thomas blinked. “What do you do?”

Drawwood rolled her eyes. “I already said: Treasury Secretary. I assume you're Thomas Jefferson. I would say that it's a pleasure to meet you, but I had been told that it's rude to lie.”

“ _Wow_ ,” Thomas drawled. “Hamilton, congratulations. You actually managed to find a Treasury Secretary even more disrespectful than you.”

“Have you considered, Jefferson,” Drawwood spoke, “that maybe it's just _you_ who does not garner respect?”

Thomas bristled. “I'll have you know that I was _president_!”

Drawwood shrugged. “So was Andrew Jackson, and he was one of the most despicable human beings in the history of _ever_ ,” she retorted.

John grinned. “I can see why you like her,” he stage-whispered to Alexander.

Lafayette laughed. “Sometimes, when she and Alexander begin talking finances, I feel like I'm seeing two versions of the same person,” he confessed, listening with one ear as Drawwood continued to chew Thomas out.

John bit his lip. “Do you think that I should rescue Thomas?” he asked uncertainly.

Alexander and Lafayette exchanged looks. They both shrugged. “Nah," Lafayette replied for the both of them. "Let Drawwood have her fun. After all that she has done these last two weeks, she needs to relax."

* * *

Despite Alexander's enthusiasm, James postponed the meeting with the FBI agents until Alexander was back safely in the White House. Only then did he ask Alexander's assistant to schedule a meeting with Agent Scott and Agent Faucette.

The meeting went off-track right from the start. Alexander took one look at the female agent and stilled. His eyes widened. “Peggy?” he breathed.

Scott stared. “ _Alexander_!” she exclaimed. She rushed to hug him. “God, you won't believe how good it is to see you,” she confessed. “I thought we were the only ones.”

“'We'?” Alexander repeated.

Peggy let go of him. She motioned to her partner, Agent Faucette, and if Alexander thought that Peggy was unexpected, he definitely wasn't prepared for whom he saw. “Philip.”

“Dad,” Philip grinned, as cheerful as ever. “I heard that you got shot.”

Alexander returned the grin. “I heard that I have a certain two agents to thank for finding the people responsible,” he enveloped Philip in a hug. Philip leaned into it.

Peggy's cough interrupted them. “As much as I think it's sweet that you're bonding,” she said sardonically, “are there any other people from our period?”

Alexander drew back, a smile still on his face. “Almost everyone,” he confirmed. “James Morrow, my VP, is James Madison. Lafayette is, well, _Lafayette_ ,” he said awkwardly, and they laughed again, just because they _could._ Because they had found each other again. “But enough about me,” he decided. “Let's talk about you. Are you each other's partners?”

“Yup,” Peggy confirmed. “Well work partners. Theodosia – you know, Aaron Burr's daughter from before?”

Alexander rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know Theodosia Burr,” he retorted.

Peggy smacked him. “Don't snark at me,” she admonished. “As I was saying, Theo is Philip's wife.”

“From what I remember, she was quite a beauty,” Alexander wagged his eyebrows suggestively as Philip groaned. “Is she as gorgeous as before?”

“ _More_ ,” Philip said honestly. “Also, Hercules Mulligan – that was your spy friend from the war, right? Well, he is Peggy's brother.”

Alexander's eyes widened. “Cool!” he exclaimed, then furrowed his brows. "Wait, is that Agent Scott from the Secret Service?"

Peggy tilted her head. "Yeah, wh– _oh_ ," she said in realization.

"Oh," Alexander echoed. He then smirked. “There is someone I'd like you to meet. Hold on a second,” he reached for his phone and dialed Angelica. “Angelica, mind dropping by the Oval Office in, let's say, two minutes?”

He could almost hear her eye-roll. “Sure, Hamilton. It's not like I have an actual _job_ to do or anything.”

“Good,” he beamed, ignoring the sarcasm in her voice. “There is someone I think you want to meet. I'll give you a clue: it's your sister, and it's not Eliza.”

“ _Peggy_?” Angelica squealed. Alexander snickered and ended the call.

“Now, since we have approximately two minutes before Angelica storms in here, demanding to see you,” Alexander said lightly, “let me catch you up on the gossip. My foster parents are the Washingtons. Eliza is actually playing herself on Broadway. Thomas Jefferson is dating John Laurens–“

Peggy snorted. “Your former nemesis is dating your former lover?” she sounded incredulous. “Seriously? Those things simply _don't happen_ in real life.”

Alexander shrugged. “To me, they do. Believe me, they _do_.”

Philip raised a hand to stall Alexander. “Wait, was John Laurens your lover?” he frowned. “As in, your BFF from way back when, abolitionist extraordinaire, rich son of plantation owner and asshole Henry Laurens? _That_ John Laurens?”

“Do you know any other John Laurenses?” Alexander asked rhetorically.

Phllip rolled his eyes. “I can't believe you were gay.”

“Bisexual, actually,” Alexander corrected him. “Still am, as a matter of fact.”

“Yeah, but now you're not my dad,” Philip explained. “I don't have to think about you having gay sex now.”

Alexander grinned. “In that case, let me be very explicit: I am having gay sex with Lafayette on a regular basis.”

Philip groaned and covered his ears as Peggy laughed.

That was how Angelica found them: Alexander grinning, Peggy gripping the presidential desk for support because she was laughing too much, and Philip covering his face in embarrassment.

“Peggy!”

“Angelica!”

And so it began again.

* * *

The performance had gone better than Alexander had hoped. He had, in an effort to both improve his White House's reputation by promoting unity with a musical about a founding father, as well as making sure that this event would not come off as exclusively patrician, to show that America always included every one of her denizens, opened the performance to the public – or as many people as could be fitted into the White House theatre room – a few years ago, Alexander would have been surprised that he would even own a theatre hall, but these days, not much of anything phased him anymore.

The cast did an outstanding job, as always. Every reincarnate with whom Alexander was acquainted showed up: Eliza, Angelica, Peggy, Hercules, Philip, Theodosia, John, Thomas, the Washingtons – and, of course, Alexander's own cabinet.

Everybody showed strong emotion, especially during 'Tomorrow There'll Be More Of Us', 'It's Quiet Uptown', and the finale. So did Alexander, James, and Lafayette, for the matter; they simply knew what to expect.

Afterwards, Alexander invited the cast and his fellow reincarnates for a celebration (no, James, _it wasn't a party_ ). Even Jefferson accepted, though it was mostly to humour John (Alexander didn't blame him; he himself did things he would never have imagined otherwise, just to humour John).

At one point, Thomas turned to Lin. “I've got to say, I'm curious: How did you even come up with the idea to make a musical about _Hamilton_ , of all people?” he said acerbically. “I mean, you aren't exactly a historian, so…” he trailed off, a trace of scorn in his voice.

Jon draped himself over Lin's shoulders with a laugh. “According to Vanessa, they went on a holiday right after finishing _In The Heights_ , and Lin happened to see Chernow's book on sale in a bookstore at the airport, and decided to buy it because he needed, and I quote, 'light reading'” he grinned.

“I promptly fell in love with the book and I just _knew_ that I had to do _something_ to carry on the legacy of this amazing man, to prevent him from being forgotten.”

“I would say that you have succeeded,” a voice cut in. Lin turned around and came face-to-face with Alexander Hampton, a glass of soda in his hand. He had opted for non-alcoholic beverages this evening, since he had still not entirely recovered from the gunshot wound a few months back. Besides, somebody with access to the nuclear launch codes needed to stay sober in case of emergency, and James more than deserved a break.

“The book wouldn't happen to be Chernow's _Alexander Hamilton_ , by any chance?” Thomas asked flippantly. “I have read that one, actually. It's good,” he allowed.

John laughed. “High praise, coming from Thomas Jenkins,” he teased, to which Thomas rolled his eyes. “But yes, it's a really good book. You should read it, sir,” he addressed Washington.

Washington grimaced. “For some reason, librarians aren't exactly fond of me.”

Martha smirked. “That might have something to do with you borrowing a book in 1789 and not having returned it since.”

“I feel guilty about forgetting about that particular book,” Washington defended himself. “As I said, librarians don't trust my returning rate, so I doubt that they would let me borrow anything.”

“They don't trust _George Washington's_ returning rate,” Angelica objected. “You aren't required to reveal your past life every time you visit the library.”

Alexander huffed. “I'll get you the book for your birthday,” he said, effectively ending the discussion. Instead, Lin began quizzing Angelica on the quality of clothes from the 18 th  century versus today.

Alexander took the time to glance around. His eyes settled on James, who was talking to a group of actors, seeming to be in the middle of telling a story. Judging from the glances thrown in Alexander's direction, he could hazard a guess whom the story was about. Alexander sighed as he made his way to the group.

“So there was Alexander, as inebriated as I had ever seen him,” James was telling softly but the sound was carrying over a distance, “and I knew that I had to do something because the nerd–“

Alexander cleared his throat, grinning as James jumped, startled. It wasn't often that Alexander got the chance to catch his VP off-guard. “Are you gossiping about me, Jemmy?” he teased.

James smiled tipsily. It was during times like these that Alexander was painfully reminded of the fact that James was an utter lightweight. “Maybe,” James drawled in an unsettlingly accurate imitation of Jefferson.

“Well, I'm sure that the nice people here aren't interested in hearing your story,” Alexander responded.

“I do want to hear this story,” Leslie Odom Jr. objected.

Alexander groaned. “Correction: _I_ don't want you to hear this story.”

“Too bad,” James replied lightly. “See, Alexander Hamilton was a problematic founding father–“

Alexander rolled his eyes. “Methinks you have had a little too much to drink, my friend,” but he couldn't find it in his heart to interrupt his friend.

* * *

When the time came to open their gifts, they drew lots on who would begin. Alexander drew the short stick. He opened his gift with caution, keeping in mind last year's gift from Schmidt. Drawwood's gift turned out to be a set of beautiful fountain pens, for which he thanked her profusely. Next in turn was Lafayette. Alexander gave Lafayette a guide on how to fold paper airplanes most effectively, both in terms of maximal velocity and maximal flight distance. Lafayette showed it to Drawwood, and they both began snickering. Lafayette bought Schmidt a gift card for a quite frankly ridiculous amount of money to a spa specializing in relaxation. Schmidt gave James the gay version of the Kama Sutra, which caused James to blush furiously and mumble that he 'wasn't nearly drunk enough for this shit and fuck you anyway except please don't'.

Finally, Drawwood opened her gift from James. Inside was a bottle of seasoned red wine, along with a first edition of _Le Petit Prince_ and Malachy Postlethwayt's _The Universal Dictionary of Trade and Commerce_. When Alexander spotted it, he nodded approvingly. She glanced up at James, incredulous. “How did you– ?” she was speechless.

James smiled. “You deserve it, after the work you've put in over the past month. You have good taste in books, by the way.”

Alexander observed this exchange. He basked in the joy of being near the people he loved, his chosen family. Just like Washington had made his aides-de-camp his family, Alexander slowly but surely created a family of his own. He wouldn't exchange it for anything.

**Author's Note:**

> There we have it. ~~The 'verse is complete.~~ I hope you enjoyed it, because I certainly enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Recommended reading: [every word](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6086365) by [ jjjat3am](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/pseuds/jjjat3am).


End file.
